Five Times Bucky & Natasha Didn't Meet
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: It's not destiny if it never happened. (Or is it?) Five times Bucky and Natasha didn't meet... and one time they did.


**A/n:** Major thanks to the wonderful **finaljoy** for her speedy, brilliant betaing. :D

Happy Birthday to the best beta, writer friend, fangirl pal, awesome sauce sensational sunflower ever, **stars_inthe_sky**. (*love*)

* * *

 **1\. 1456**

The sun scorched them from high in the sky when the battle commenced.

James tore after his opponent the instant the gong rang. He fought with intense focus, blocking every attack. He jabbed and dodged, rolled through the dirt and popped back to his feet. He didn't bother with the showy moves that other knights used to impress the lord's daughter. For him, it was less about winning the lady's favor and more about being victorious. He'd won every match he'd been in; this was his last of the day.

Swords clashed and clanged. The match was even, his opponent strong. Beneath James's armor, sweat gathered and slid across his skin. He feinted to the left and swept his sword in a fast, hard arc at his opponent. The blow connected and the other knight stumbled and fell.

Before the knight could roll away, James leapt forward. He stopped the killing blow inches from his opponent's neck and held it there. The gathered crowd cheered. James backed up and bowed as the other knight picked himself up out of the dirt.

"Well met, Sir James, well met indeed!" The lady, in her shaded pavilion at the edge of the area, clapped heartily.

James offered her a deep bow and wide, stunning smile. "All for you, my lady," he said. Though the victory was for himself, it was customary to dote on the lord's daughter.

She flushed and giggled.

James departed the small battle arena, stopping near his horse. He settled onto a log stump and began the arduous task of removing all of his armour. His opponent from the ring clambered across the grass between the tents, still covered from head to toe.

James tossed him a gracious smile. "Well fought, brave sir," he commented. "You nearly had me a number of times."

The knight respectfully inclined his head. "You were a very worthy opponent as well," came the muffled reply and James was surprised to hear how feminine the voice sounded.

"Perhaps we ought have a rematch sometime…" he added, unsure.

The knight laughed and removed his helmet – or rather, _her_ helmet. She shook out her fiery red hair and her green eyes sparkled with mirth. James realized he was staring and had been for an uncomfortable number of seconds when she laughed again. It was wholly uncommon to see a lady knight, especially one who fought better than most men. Certainly none so beautiful.

"That would be a fine thing," she said. "Had you the strength for another bout, I'd propose one now."

James recovered his wits with difficulty. "I have plenty of strength, my lady."

She raked her eyes over him. "I've no doubt of that."

He grinned.

She offered him a demure smile in return and a swift, little bow. "Until we meet again, Sir James."

* * *

 **2.** **1927**

Natasha finished the refrain with a flourish. Her voice rang out, strong and sultry and clear. She bowed and the crowded, smoky room burst into enthusiastic applause. She smiled her thanks, blowing kisses and tossing out flirty winks, as was her trademark sign-off.

Natasha left the stage, her set complete. It was time to get ossified on Billy's finest booze. She squeezed through the throng up to the bar.

"Hell, Nat, that was _beautiful!_ " Billy exclaimed. His bearded, grizzled features split into a bright grin. He slid a shot of jag juice to her.

"Thanks, pal," she said and tossed the liquor back. "Felt a little all over the place on a few, there."

He waved his hand at her. "Not a chance. You've got the best jazz pipes around, ask anyone."

She warmed at his compliment. Billy was always good to her, like a father she never had. If she'd had a father that ran a speakeasy down on 45th and periodically got tangled with the lawmen as a result, of course.

"Better yet," the older man continued. "Why don't you ask that boy ankling his way over? He's been in here every night this week, gawking over your set. He looks like a good one, so try not to give him the icy mitt too quick, eh?" He winked and Natasha rolled her eyes. Billy moved down the bar to tend to other patrons.

Natasha didn't have to wait long before the man came close.

"Well," she said, leaning her arms back against the sticky bar. She eyed him up unabashedly. "Ain't you just a Shiek."

He was decked out in a spiffy soldier's uniform and he ducked his head sputtering, his cheeks flushed. Sometimes it was so easy to set these boys off their game and Natasha loved doing it. She was no cancelled stamp and she let them know that right away.

"Lost your tongue?" she teased, sipping the fresh drink Billy had set out for her.

"You know, I've been coming here for weeks, trying to muster up the courage to come say hello…" He glanced back up at her, with pretty blue eyes and the kind of grin that made her knees wobble against her will. "You're exactly what I was expecting."

"Yeah?" she raised her eyebrow.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forgot everything I was supposed to say to be real impressive and suave. Gonna have to blame those eyes of yours – couldn't see 'em in detail at the back there, but now I'm lookin' up close and I ain't got a line to throw."

She bit back an amused smile of her own. "Sure it's not just my eyes that're the problem?"

"Well," he said, gaining some confidence back. "Those gams sure don't hurt, either."

This time Natasha was the one who laughed. The subtle line of apprehension between his eyebrows melted away.

There were a lot of men who wanted to gab with her after her set, try to make a move, but she'd yet to meet one who actually interested _her_. Until now, it seemed – she liked everything about Soldier Boy from first sight.

"You sure about that?" she replied. She reached out to adjust his tie. His cheeks flushed adorably pink again and he was about to answer, when a harsh clanging bell sounded.

Billy hollered, "Split! It's the coppers!"

The place fell into chaos. Everybody bolted for the exits to avoid getting snatched up in the police raid. Soldier Boy paled with shock and spun on his heel. Natasha latched onto his arm, catching him before he dashed away with the stampeding throng.

"This way!" she shouted at him. She clambered over the bar and Soldier Boy ungracefully followed suit.

Billy kept ringing the bell and he waved Natasha and Soldier Boy on through the back room. She slid her grip from his arm to his sweaty hand. She elbowed the back door open and they stumbled into the alley. The sound of police sirens echoed against the brick walls. Natasha veered to the left, tugging Soldier Boy along – this wasn't the first time she'd had to get out of Billy's in an all-fired hurry. They rounded the corner and kept going.

She pulled him farther down the street and they ducked under an awning, out of the pool of light from a street lamp. A cop car rumbled down the pavement and Natasha pressed herself tight against Soldier Boy in the shadows. His breath hitched and she could feel his heartbeat going like nuts under her palm. They waited frozen for an agonizing few seconds but the copper drove past them without slowing.

Natasha exhaled in relief but didn't back away from Soldier Boy. Instead she flicked her eyes up to his and smiled.

"Natasha Romanoff, by the way."

He let out his breath shakily and chuckled. "James Barnes."

"First raid?"

"First time on the lam," he nodded.

"Stick with me, Barnes, and there'll be more'n one."

He settled his hands around her waist, tentatively at first until he realized she wasn't objecting.

"Oh," he said. "I'm counting on it."

* * *

 **3\. 1963**

Detective Barnes rolled his shoulders and shoved open the door to the interrogation room. Jane Rumsfield was picture-perfect on the other side of the table, hair piled high in that beehive style the ladies were nuts for, gloved hands folded neatly before her. Seeing her on the street, nobody would've looked twice. He supposed that was the point.

He should've grabbed that coffee O'Neal had offered him, but the station's brew always tasted like shit. Still, if he was gonna shake down a suspected Russian spy, it was probably better if he had some caffeine in his system.

He flipped open the file in hands. Bucky thumbed through the pages – the supposed evidence – that Jane Rumsfield here, was a cold-blooded killer and Russian spy. He considered himself a good cop with solid instincts, but something about this didn't smell right.

Bucky slapped the folder down the gray table and shoved his sleeves up his arms.

"So," he said, settling into the chair opposite the lady and lighting a cigarette.

She blinked at him, her pretty brow creased with worry. Or was this part of the act?

"They tell me you're passin' intel to the Russians," said Bucky. He tappd his cigarette over the brass ashtray. "They tell me the Feds are on their way to pick you up and lock you away for a real long time." He watched her. "Wanna tell me what an apple-pie-housewife like you was doing with a pen full of government secrets?"

"Look, mister, whatever they say, I didn't do it, I swear," she pleaded, tears springing to her eyes. "I was out picking up my husband's dry cleaning after my hair appointment and I ran into this man on the street and he must've put something in my bag, I don't know – I-I don't know how! I swear, I swear…"

 _Damn_ , thought Bucky. She was really good – the best he'd ever seen. He was tempted to believe her. But she couldn't be as innocent as she claimed.

 _Could she?_

Her story wasn't completely implausible. The real spy _could_ be using her as a patsy...

Tears poured down her face, streaking her heavy makeup. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and sighed. He stubbed out his cigarette and passed her his handkerchief. She took it gratefully and stifled her sobs.

"I just don't know," she hiccupped. "What this is about. I've never – never done anything! Not so much as a parking ticket! And now – they – now they – those policemen – " She sucked in a few breaths and dabbed at her eyes. "They think _I'm_ a Russian spy!"

She burst into a fresh wave of tears. Bucky grimaced and found it hard to look at her. Dammit, she looked so _genuinely_ terrified.

Watching her struggle to collect herself, he couldn't imagine her hurting a fly. She was probably used to watching _I Love Lucy_ with her working-man husband, not traipsing through the Pentagon stealing secrets. In fact, the longer he watched her, the more he was sure of it: this wasn't the one they were after.

"Look," he started. He shut the folder. "The Feds are still coming to have a chat with you and I can tell you that that's going to be damn frightening, but it'll be over soon and they'll escort you back home. And I'll… I'll try to put in a good word for you, with them. Okay? I believe you."

He offered her his best comforting smile, something he was not in the habit of doing. Her smile in return was watery and grateful.

"Thank you, oh, thank you," she said. "I'm so sorry I'm such a mess – I'm so embarrassed." She wiped her face with his handkerchief. "I just don't understand how this happened – I'm no one, I'm _no one…_ "

"Don't worry about it," he waved her off. "You know how cagey the world is, what with Cuba and 'Nam... Unfortunately, you're not the first person this's happened to. But, they gotta investigate every possible lead. What they have on you, though…" He gestured to the folder. "It's circumstantial."

"It is?" she glanced up hopefully.

Bucky chuckled. "Yeah, don't worry, Jane."

She held out his handkerchief. When he grasped it, she said, "I won't."

He blinked at the instantaneous change in her demeanour – her voice had gone ice cold and flat. Her hand was on him and his head smashed into the table. He saw sparks, felt a shock of pain–

Bucky woke up flat on his back beside his chair, blood from his cracked nose all down his front. The door to interrogation was wide open and Jane Rumsfield, or whoever the hell she really was, was long gone. So was the folder, and when he ran to Evidence, so was the pen with the intel inside.

O'Neal didn't let him live _that_ one down for months.

* * *

 **4\. 1994**

Natasha wasn't watching the new guy. She wasn't.

She pulled her darks out of the dryer with unnecessary vigor. Laundry was her most hated chore and she'd been putting it off until she literally had nothing left to wear but her "for painting and scrubbing floors only" sweats and t-shirt. So, of course, she only had herself to blame for looking like a homeless person when the new tenant in the building showed up to do his laundry too, and he was tall and dark-haired and near-blindingly gorgeous.

It didn't help that Mrs. Garcia was smirking over her crossword at her. Natasha could practically hear the woman's thoughts from here.

 _Oh, Nattie! Isn't he a very handsome boy indeed? And just down the hall, oh, so very convenient, Nattie! Haven't I been wanting a good handsome boy for you?_

Natasha cast her gaze sideways at the new guy. Okay, maybe she _was_ totally watching him. But he was muscular, and that red and gray tee looked damn good on him, and he had searing blue eyes and a sweep of wonderful dark hair, and honestly how was she _not_ supposed to notice? Especially since he was the only resident she hadn't personally met in the small ten-apartment complex.

He nearly gave her a heart attack when she spun around to grab her laundry basket and he was standing right _there_.

"Shit!" she blurted.

"Sorry!" He threw his hands up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you – I was just wondering if you had a few extra quarters? I, uh, I'm out and halfway between loads." He raked his fingers through his dark hair, mussing it up in a wholly, unfairly attractive way.

"Sure," Natasha mumbled. She was hyper aware of the loose, scrubby clothes she'd put on this morning and her unwashed hair stuck in a ponytail. _Great job, Past Natasha_ , she growled silently as she dug in her pocket for change. _Such a good first impression_.

"Thanks," he said with a disarming smile as he took the quarters from her.

"No problem." Natasha hastily returned to jamming her clothes into her basket. She ignored the way her cheeks were burning.

"I'm new here, by the way," the gorgeous man added and Natasha was surprised he was bothering with more small talk. "Just moved in."

She was hyper aware of that little fact at the moment too and didn't know what to say. After probably too long a pause, she pushed out, "That's nice." Regretting her flat tone, she tried again: "I mean, that's great!"

 _God, this is a disaster._ She very seriously considered leaving the rest of her laundry right then and there and coming back when Mister Too Pretty To Be Real was back in his apartment.

"Yeah, thanks!" He didn't notice her internal struggle as he closed up his washer and pushed the quarters into the slots. "It's kind of weird, though, being a brand new city. I don't know where anything is or what's good… Do you know any good pizza places around here?"

"Ray's down on 12th is solid if you like lots of cheese," she said automatically. Pizza was a safe topic – pizza she could handle. "But I'm a big sauce girl, so I usually go for Pete's Pizza on Main. They're eat-in, delivery, and take-out."

"Awesome!" said Mister Gorgeous. "And hey, look, if it's not too weird – would you want to… would you wanna go together some time? You can totally say no, it's just, I don't know anybody here, and, well. If we laundry people can't stick together, who can, right?" He finished with an uncomfortable laugh.

Natasha couldn't stop herself from blinking at him in surprise. Was he literally asking her out right now? And damn it, why did he have to look so unsure and uneasy like he was silently beating himself up for saying a word? It was terribly endearing and Mister Blue Eyes didn't need to be _endearing_ on top of _stunning_. It was just incredibly unfair.

And then she backed up to: _he was asking her out._

She stuffed away the sudden flutter of butterflies – no, eagles – swooping around her stomach and schooled her features into something friendly but totally cool. _Totally._

"I don't even know your name," she said.

"Right, sorry – it's Bucky." He rushed forward to hold out his hand. "I mean, it's actually James. You know, on my birth certificate, but everybody calls me Bucky."

She was sorely tempted to make a joke – who the hell called someone _Bucky_? – but watching him being the flustered one was too good to mar. So instead she took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Natasha," she replied with a wide smile. "And yeah, I'd be up for going for pizza sometime."

Bucky melted with relief (and she added _stupid cute_ to the growing list of descriptions she had for him). "Great! Well, I'm in number eight and I'm home most evenings."

"I'm in number four."

"Great, great! Okay, great – I'm saying great too many times. _Great_. Sorry." He shoved his hands in his pockets and Natasha let out a laugh.

"See you around, Bucky." She grabbed the handles of her laundry basket and offered him another smile.

"Yeah, absolutely," he gushed. "Bye, Natasha."

The way he said her name made her grin a little wider as she headed out of the laundry room. She darted her eyes to Mrs. Garcia as she passed and the older woman beamed. Natasha rolled her eyes – she was never going to hear the end of this from her at taco night. But with an upcoming pizza date with Bucky, she wasn't sure she really minded.

* * *

 **5\. Unknown**

Following a murder-bot through a sketchy time-travel apparatus was not the best way to start the day, Bucky reflected, when he was spit out naked in a dark alley. But since Steve promised this was the only way to save humanity, then Bucky did it.

After "borrowing" some clothes from a nearby shop, he found her with little trouble. Now that the Avengers were scattered and in hiding following the American War and the death of Tony Stark, she was exactly where Steve said she would be: camped out in the ruins of the Avengers's last training facility.

Bucky crept through the shadows with his hands up – no need to make her think he was there to kill her. Still, he must've been giving off the wrong impression anyways, because she laid him out flat on his back before he even registered the swish of a faint footstep on the dusty cement floor.

Natasha pressed the knife to his throat. "How'd you find me? Who sent you?"

"You want the long answer," Bucky wheezed. "Or the short answer?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Bucky?"

"In the flesh."

She didn't ease up. "But you're dead."

His good arm was starting to go numb from the pressure of her knee. "Not exactly – look, we don't have a lot time here, so let me up and I'll give you the summary while you get us some very big guns, okay?"

Natasha waited, searching his expression.

He would've rolled his eyes was he not being half-choked by his former girlfriend. "You really don't like mushrooms but you never tell anybody that." He cracked a smile. "Except me."

She hesitated another few seconds then slowly eased back and stood. She stayed tense, ready to attack him the moment she sensed he was lying.

"Okay," she said. "So what the hell?"

He shrugged and launched into the summarized version of events he'd been rehearsing in his head ever since Steve told him about the mission. That after the team took down Savoy, Bucky was recaptured by a powerful, lingering cell of HYDRA. They overpowered him and locked him up, froze him like their comrades of yore used to do. When they thawed him a three decades later, they miscalculated his complacency and he tore them apart. Found his way to Steve, who was heading up a band of freedom fighters in the grim new world.

"I can't tell you a lot more without screwing up future events," Bucky explained. "But basically, new bad guys happened and they created a computer program that takes over, wipes everything out. Machines control the world. Steve's been trying to stop them for ages."

Bucky exhaled and glanced around the crumbling, darkened space. They had to get a move on if they were going to –

Gunfire exploded around them. Bucky dove for Natasha, knocking her to the floor. They rolled behind a column as bullets sprayed overhead. He poked his head around the thick metal pillar and swore. There, at the far end of the expansive room and striding over the chunks of collapsed ceiling, was a massive man with a hefty gun aimed in their direction – a Terminator.

"He with you?" Natasha asked. She stashed her knives and snatched up her 9mm.

The Terminator sprayed the area with another wave of bullets.

Bucky cocked his head. "In a manner of speaking." He popped to his feet and gestured for her to follow. "We gotta go."

"Uh, it's only one guy. I'm pretty sure we can take him."

"Nat," Bucky clenched his teeth together. "Look, he isn't want you think and I'm here to save you, okay? We gotta _go_."

Natasha snorted. "I don't need saving, _dorogoy moy."_

The Terminator drew ever closer. Natasha peeked around the pillar and got a shot off, hitting the murder-bot smack in the forehead. He, of course, didn't fall over dead. Instead, the thing reeled from the impact but quickly stabilized. Where the bullet struck, there was a bloody, ragged hole with silver metal shining through.

Natasha gasped. "What the – "

Bucky grasped her forearm and pulled her to her unsteady feet. "Come with me if you want to live." When she hesitated, he yanked her forward. " _Now,_ Nat!"

She faced him with steel in her gaze and he knew he finally had her. They took off running at full tilt through the abandoned building, the Terminator relentlessly marching and firing in their wake.

* * *

 **+1 . And One Time They Did – 2016**

At this point, she didn't think anything could surprise her.

Demi-gods from another realm? Okay. Army of aliens? Sure. Her super-soldier teammate's best friend from the 40's turns out to be the same assassin who tried to take her out years ago, and again recently? Apparently. She'd gotten pretty good at rolling with the completely insane punches that went with her life as of late.

Turns out, she was wrong on both counts.

The evening was as normal as it ever could be in Avengers Tower. Tony and Bruce were holed up in the lab, Clint was away on a mission, and Steve was in the gym. That left Thor and Bucky to cook supper and Natasha to watch them. It was endlessly entertaining to watch any one of her teammates in the kitchen, as they ranged from skilled (Bruce) to hopeless (Clint).

Thor had recently learned about Italian food and was determined to provide an Italian feast for supper. She didn't know how Bucky got roped in to the whole thing, but as he chopped tomatoes for the marinara sauce, he looked like he was enjoying himself. She perched at the kitchen bar and smiled at the pair of them.

"Then, Master Curtis instructed that the garlic be _minced_ ," Thor instructed. He moved to the opposite counter to delicately chop the fresh garlic cloves.

Bucky inhaled the delicious scents floating through the room. "Man... I think the last time I remember having pasta was before the war, at Steve's. It was just canned spaghetti, but his mom used to make homemade meatballs…" He closed his eyes and made a loud and long _mmm_ sound.

Natasha smiled again. "She was a good cook?"

Bucky nodded, scraping the tomato pieces into the pot behind him. "The best. I mean, my mom cooked great too, but…" He paused, his brow crinkling. "At least, I think she was a good cook. Maybe she was the one who…"

He set the cutting board down and hunched his shoulders. Natasha's heart went out to him. HYDRA had screwed with his mind so long, his memories were fragments. At least some of them were returning – he'd taken to carrying a notebook or two around at all times so he could jot down things he remembered and try to sort out his identity. Sadly, after her experiences with the Red Room playing with her brain, Natasha knew intimately how he felt.

Thor hummed to himself as he finished up with the garlic. Bucky hadn't moved, lost in his own head.

"Bucky?" Natasha piped up, hoping to draw him back to the present.

He jumped, completely startled, and knocked the pot of marinara to the floor in the process. He hopped back and cursed soundly.

"Thor, I'm so sorry," he said in a rush.

Natasha got up to grab a towel to clean away the sauce.

"Fear not, my friend," Thor nodded. "Accidents happen! Besides, we have plenty of ingredients that we may try our hand again."

Bucky grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter and dropped to the floor to help Natasha.

"I'm sorry, I just – I can't…"

"Hey, seriously, don't worry about it," she assured him with a soft smile.

Except Bucky had frozen again. He stared at his hands – the metal one splashed with sauce – and a chill went down Natasha's spine. Every once in a while, something triggered Bucky and he could get violent.

"Thor," she murmured. "Get Steve."

Thor nodded and rushed out of the kitchen. Thankfully the outbursts had grown fewer and farther between, but even so, the team knew the only way to snap Bucky out of it was for Steve to talk him down.

She slowly pulled her arm back, reaching for the ever-present knife in her belt. Bucky's metal hand darted out faster than she blinked and he grabbed her wrist, painfully hard. His eyes were wild and frightened and shocked when she met them.

"Natalia?" he whispered.

This time it was Natasha who was frozen. No one knew that – nobody but Clint, she hadn't told the team her old name, how the hell could he possibly –

 _His hand was spattered with blood when he grabbed her wrist. It looked like black paint splashed across his metal fingers in the near-darkness._

 _"Natalia," he said. "It's done."_

She flinched away from him, sucking in a harsh gasp. Fragments of memories cascaded through her – the Red Room, training, _him_ , the way he kissed her, the way he _loved_ her – and she scrambled back on her elbows.

"What the hell," she breathed. Her heart clattered against her ribs, her pulse roared in her ears. She'd loved him too, she'd loved him back, she'd… _killed_ him… "How is this possible?"

He glanced down at his sauce-spattered hands. "You're supposed to be dead," he mumbled. He locked his gaze on hers. "I… I killed you."

She couldn't stop the strange, nervous, surprised laugh. "Right back at you."

 _What the hell, what the hell?_ She couldn't understand the pieces that were falling into place, couldn't figure out how the universe had twisted up in such a way that they were here, now. That he was Steve's best friend Bucky from childhood, and a brainwashed assassin, and _her James_. She didn't even know him, yet she knew everything about him at the same time, and she had no idea how either of them were supposed to move from this incredible, impossible moment.

Steve and Thor arrived in the kitchen and Natasha couldn't even spare a thought to how she and Bucky must've looked. She only had eyes for Bucky – for _James_.

"Is everything…?" Steve started.

Natasha inhaled slowly and let the air back out. James swallowed and cracked a soft, barely-there smile.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he replied.

 **-end-**

* * *

 **A/n:** Credit where credit is due: I read "Mistaken for Strangers" by **Metarie** and "Five Times He Asked" by **Kore rising** fifty-five years ago and have wanted to do something along the same lines ever since. So thanks to you beautiful authors for your wonderful fics that stuck with me all this time to inspire me. :)


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